I've got family on a farm in Iowa I used to spend summers with. I was a troubled teenager
and they allowed me the freedom to use Bigfoot, one of their cutting horses, as my
personal companion. Bigfoot was a 17H blood bay Quarter horse whose registered name
was Skipper Spark, and the most beautiful horse in the world, to my way of thinking.
I learned to cut cattle…or hang on while he did… we went fishing together, learned how
to saddle him up, how to ride bareback (and double) hung out in the pasture with a curry
comb and carrots and the other horses, bucked at the nasty green flies, barrel raced
around hay bales, and galloped down the dirt road and picked mulberries.
I was 16 that last summer, went off and had not seen him for about 8 or 9 years- and
when I returned with kids in tow, he followed me around like a puppy dog. That was the
last time I saw him. That visit was 17 years ago, and I still miss him. He lived well into
his 30s, fat and sassy. To this day, I credit my great aunt and uncle and Bigfoot with
saving my sorry hide.
I haven't been on the back of a horse in all those years, nor had any substantial contact
with them.
Until now...

July 27, 2008
Dear Larry and Anita,
Thank you so much for the letter and photos- I don’t recall having seen them before. I’d
love to see the old Montana homestead myself- I wonder if it still stands. I can see it in
my mind, as it used to be. Of course I treasure the photos of Bigfoot- silly horse didn’t
even mind the braids, did he?
Yes, I hear from Tristan, he calls once in a while and writes an email here and there.
They are undermanned and don’t get enough sleep, and of course, that worries me.
They’re over there literally with their lives on the line and are exhausted. All I know to
do is send love, prayers, and tuna packets. It’s hard to reconcile my feelings about why
our kids are in Iraq to begin with, but I am proud of him for doing what he believes he
needs to. He wants to re-enlist and go to Germany when the time comes, but that’s a
ways off.
Elissa works in the office with me and I guess is trying to figure out what she wants.
She’s toyed with the idea of school but isn’t really actively pursuing it. Our boss would
help pay for it if she wanted to go. She has had trouble with exams, and she’ll have to
retake one to get into the local school.
I’m glad to hear that you’re doing better. How’s haying going?
You ask about the colt. I don’t know what all I’ve told you. He still doesn’t have a name,
but I am sort of calling him Boomer now- he’s been Hot Stuff and Squirt, too. He and his
Mama were in my dreams one night and Boomer was his name, and he was turquoise
colored.
His Mama wasn’t in the original herd I started hanging out over the fence with last fall,
they’re all Quarter horses. She’s a red Leopard Appaloosa. She and several other Apps
had summered on another property. She’d lost weight going into fall, but no one really
realized just how much because she had a big belly, and from a distance, it was hard to
tell, as they were all out at pasture.
When my friend realized how much weight the mare had lost, we brought her in and
started a monitored feeding regimen. I was told she was of the best Appaloosa
bloodlines- a King Plaudit great-granddaughter- but this scruffy little mare sure didn’t
look like much of a horse at the time. She didn’t even seem to notice us, just sort of went
about her business alone. With grain and better pasture, he started to look and act like she
felt better; she was gaining weight, but progress seemed very slow. Then one day in April
this year, I was out to feed everyone and she was walking to her bucket. I got a glimpse
of her udder- she was bagged up! No one had known she was pregnant, either- the mares
had been separated from the stud in the spring.
I told my friend and she was just as surprised as I was, but this really explained a lot
about her slow progress. We set up a pen for her and pulled her from pasture. I’d just
gotten home around 9 p.m. on April 10th and got a phone call, “We have a baby!” My
friend didn’t know anything else yet, she called me before she had gone out to see. It was
a really long 5 mile drive that night!
My friend’s husband had set up a floodlight across the yard, so we could see but it wasn’t
just beating down on Mama and baby. I was so excited! This was the first colt I’d ever
gotten to see up close. The baby was white with a huge head and tufts of red hair in his
ears and at the end of his little tail. My friend said, “He looks like a donkey, his head is so
big.” And then, “He’s WHITE!”
He was also beautiful, and only minutes old. We all watched for 2 hours while he tried to
get to his feet and whinnied his frustration when his legs didn’t cooperate right away. It
amazes me how spindly and gawky he was- but he was strong and he was perfect. Not
that I’m much of a judge, this being my first and all, but he sure looked great to me. What
I could see was that he was strong and alert. He finally made it to his feet and on wobbly,
knobby legs, stood. Then he had to figure out which end of Mama was which. I got to
touch him through the fence. His coat was very soft and his hooves were almost like gelvery
spongy. We watched until it was midnight and we were all exhausted, too. As tired
as I was, it was hard to sleep that night and work the next day seemed endless.
In the days that followed, the family’s blue heeler…who is obnoxious with the other
horses…assigned himself guardian and slept outside the pen. I was awed at how quickly
the colt filled out. He seemed to like the attention we gave him, too. I ran my hands over
him everywhere each day and picked up each foot and put it back down.
Then one day, he rolled under the bottom bar of the pen and was loose for an hour or so.
We thought it was accidental, but were also pretty sure that when it happened again...and
again, he’d figured it out and was becoming an escape artist. I understand Mama was,
too. Most of his outings were brief, until one Saturday night, when my friend’s family
was away. Little Hot Shot escaped and was apparently out for hours. His Mama was
stressed and went down. She wouldn’t eat, even after the colt was returned to the pen.
She got up and lay back down several times, but food and water just didn’t appeal. She
wasn’t doing well.
I sat with her all Sunday afternoon and talked to her and stroked her head and neck. I told
her that it was okay if she needed to go, that we’d take care of her colt the best we could,
but it would be best if she could stick around for a while. My friend returned home,
looked in on the mare, and truly thought she was saying goodbye to her little mare. I told
her that she wasn’t ready to check out just yet. She called the vet and he came out,
listened to her heart and announced that she had a heart murmur. He gave her a shot of
B12 and a grim prognosis; he didn’t think she’d be able to finish raising the colt, and
suggested we get him started on milk pellets.
Mama was up shortly after the vet left, the shot seemed to help. She finished up her
dinner, and the next day was down again, off and on. Several days went by with this
being the norm, and one evening, when I was about to leave, I saw her reach for a blade
of green grass outside the pen.
I called my friend and asked if I could hand-graze the mare. She hesitated, concerned that
the mare would go down outside the pen. I said, “what if she does? At least the grass is
soft, and it’s not like she’d be going anywhere.” She agreed. I strapped a halter and lead
rope on the mare and opened the gate. This barely-there mare practically dragged me
around the yard! Little Hot Stuff in tow, we started with 30 minutes and the next day she
plunged her nose in her feed bucket like nobody’s business, then eagerly awaited her
outing.
Before long, we were up to 2-3 hours an evening, and she improved remarkably- and has
not gone down since- or shown any sign that she might be ailing. In short order, she
began to lick her bucket clean and then let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was
quite ready to be let out, thank you very much.
The colt quickly learned that he now had all the room he wanted to run, buck, kick, and
rear. He and the dog raced everywhere together, and within a couple of weeks, were
inseparable.
We reinforced the bottom of the pen, so his escape days were over, at least for the time
being. Before I would turn them in the evening, I would put the colt’s halter on, and snap
a lead rope to it and let him drag it around in the pen. He tossed his head and ran around
the pen a little bit, and then settled down. Then I’d take it off and use the lead on his dam.
He liked to lead Mama, too.
We passed the evenings in a quiet way, and every day I have been thankful to see this
tough little mare prove the vet wrong and her colt explore his world.
Gradually the colt lost the big-headed look. He started losing his foal fur. The horse he
will become began to shine through. He still races with the dog- one pass, the dog is
chasing the colt, the next, the colt is chasing the dog. He’ll follow me almost anywhere I
ask and many places I don’t. He shares apples and cookies with me and is not afraid of
much. I rub a blanket on him, and while it isn’t his favorite thing, he complies. He
doesn’t mind where the rope touches and we’re working on water hoses and spray
bottles.
One day, he darted into the pasture when my friend drove through. He raced around with
tail and head up, full of himself, and the other mares pinned back ears and chased the
young upstart into a corner. An old gelding positioned himself between the irritated
mares and the chastised colt. We went in, walked down the fence-line where Hot Stuff
was directly across from Mama and snapped a lead rope to his halter. I wasn’t sure
whether he’d lead or not. He had to leave Mama's side (through the fence) to get to the
gate. Not only did he lead, he did so like he’d been doing it forever! We got him out of
the pasture and back to Mama and I hugged him around the neck and told him how proud
I was of him. Since that day, there have been several occasions; namely when he’s not
ready to go back into the pen for the night, when we’ve practiced leading. At nearly four
months, he’s big enough for his britches that he doesn’t always listen to Mama. Now
when I go in the pen, he’ll come rest his chin on my shoulder to say hi. Once in a while
he tries to nip, even though he knows better. I tell him to keep his teeth in his mouth.
One day recently, it was pouring rain. I was sitting in the shelter of the shed where we
keep hay while the horses grazed. I was thinking how much better Mama looks and how
beautiful she really is, and she stopped grazing, picked up her head and looked at me and
nickered.
Between mucking the pen, hauling hay and grain and handing out carrots, I’m getting
some exercise and sun, and coming out here always makes me feel better. I’m seeing my
long-dormant biceps reappear, even.
The other horses have shown me who they are, and I love them all.
But this gritty little mare and her boisterous colt have not only shared with me who they
are- after all the years since my summers with you and traipsing around on Bigfoot,
they’ve reminded me of who I am.
Love,
Anna
p.s. He’s getting spots.